


And a Day

by ZerosGirl01



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Fluff, I really can't be bothered to edit these, M/M, Unedited Again, Unhealthy Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:57:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZerosGirl01/pseuds/ZerosGirl01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And a Day

Volpe didn’t want to leave his room. There was nothing in Firenze that he wanted to do, nobody he wanted to see.

No.

The only person La Volpe would dare leave his bed for was sitting in Forli, meeting with Caterina Sforza and Ezio, probably drinking wine and muttering under his breath at the ignorance of his assassin companion.

A member of Caterina’s guard had unwittingly been harassed and severely injured by Ezio earlier in the month—the young man was blade happy and the guard had been wearing armor identical to the Borgia’s. Now he was lodging a complaint and Caterina, ever one to increase her wealth and power, was playing along, demanding monetary compensation from the Order.

Volpe sighed and rolled over in his bed—everyone knew the Assassin’s, Ezio really, owned Firenze, Venetia and were well under way to owning Roma. It was not as if they didn’t have the money or the means to keep the man happy and Catarina from withdrawing her support. The only reason Niccolò had accompanied Ezio to the meeting with Catarina was his pride.

The Duchess of Milan had outwitted Niccolò about a year ago, and the young man was not one for allowing a rematch to pass him up. La Volpe only wished there had been any reason for him to escort his young lover.

There was a knock on his door—the master thief groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. He’d fallen asleep. Again. Christ above he’d been sleeping almost nonstop for days now. He didn’t know the last time he had eaten, or even how long he’d secluded himself in his lonely room.

The knocking continued and he grumbled, sitting up and rolling his shoulders enough to feel his muscles tweak and his joints crack.

He would definitely need to stretch and run a few before hitting the town again…

”La Volpe, there is an assassin waiting in the tavern for you.” A voice came through the door when he still didn’t answer.

The thief’s back straightened and he shot from the warmth of his sheets. He had the door opened before his underling could finish his sentence.

“Which assassin?” He asked, squinting at the light flooding his eyes.

“Signor Machiavelli.”

Volpe’s violet eyes lit up and he brushed past the thief, not bothering with his cape or shoes. He raced up the stairs, taking two at a time until he reached the boisterous tavern the guild kept as a cover. His fellow thieves paid him no mind, though a few patrons and new guild members stared at his uncovered figure. He made a beeline for the room reserved for visiting assassins, courtesans, and mercenaries—the noise from the bar died down at the sight of his love sitting a table pouring over a book well-loved and annotated.

The door swung closed behind him and Niccolò Machiavelli looked up from Titus Livy and smile at him. He closed the book, not bothering to place a marker on his page and wordlessly held out a hand.

Volpe crossed the room and shoved the occupied chair from the table and mounted Machiavelli’s lap. He bowed his head and rested against the warm neck. He hummed and nuzzled against the sweat dampened skin.

“One week, Gilberto.”

The thief shivered at the vibrations coming from Niccolò’s throat. He stayed silent, content to bask in his lover’s presence and enjoy holding him close.

“Really, Gilberto, one week and you’re already—“

“And a day.”

The room feel silent, only the muffled shouts and bangs from the bar pierced their small world.

“How long were you sulking in your room, love?”

Volpe elected to not answer, sure that his lack would supply Niccolò the answer he needed. After a few seconds, hands wove into his hair and pulled him close. They sat on that chair for what felt like hours, letting the world outside spin without them.

**Author's Note:**

> Not interesting or that good honestly, maybe I'll have inspiration tomorrow...


End file.
